Home / “I Will Be”: The Horror of Harry Chapin’s “Sniper”

“I Will Be”: The Horror of Harry Chapin’s “Sniper”

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(Originally posted at Attentiondeficitdisorderly Too Flat.)

The scariest song I’ve ever heard is by Harry Chapin.

Yes, that Harry Chapin–the one who did “Cat’s in the Cradle” and “Taxi” and “Circle” and so forth. (And no comments from the peanut gallery about “Cat’s in the Cradle” being scary enough, okay?) Harry Chapin was always a very, very big deal in my family. A fellow Long Islander, he was one of those musicians that both my rock-centric Dad and easy-listening show-tune-weaned Mom could agree upon. Moreover, he was always playing live shows at local Long Island venues, where my folks saw his surprisingly theatrical singer-songwriter stylings up close and personal many times. (They still sing the praises of his bass player’s stage presence.) In fact, they had tickets to the benefit concert in Eisenhower Park on route to which he died, at age 38, in a car accident on the LIE. Rare was the Sunday afternoon when Harry Chapin songs wouldn’t be playing on our stereo.

What motivated my mischievous Dad to play the song “Sniper,” from Chapin’s second album Sniper and Other Love Songs, on one such Sunday afternoon is a mystery to me. I guess he figured I’d get a kick out of how crazy it was. Indeed I did. But it’s more than crazy–it’s inventive, insightful, piercing, and, to me at least, unforgettable.

For starters, it really is about a sniper. It’s a vaguely fictionalized account of Charles Whitman’s August 1966 University of Texas clocktower rampage–an unusual topic for the man behind “Sunday Morning Sunshine.” But the earnestness with which Chapin imbued his folksy love songs serves this macabre subject well. Chapin is no more able to hide beind irony or ambiguity here than he is in his more romantic work, forcing the audience to come directly to terms with the horror of the sniper attack, and the tortured character of the sniper himself.

Over the course of the song’s 9 minutes and 55 seconds, Chapin and his dextrous backup band wind, segue, and careen from tempo to tempo, key to key, style to style. Here they’re conveying the quiet of the early morning campus, while the protagonist walks toward the clocktower. Here they’re mimicking the buzzing teletype and breaking-news noise of the special reports updating viewers and listeners on the shootings. Here they’re deploying simple, sparse staccato to simulate the slaying of yet another too-curious bystander. Here they’re using cello and chorus to depict the mournful, vengeful mother fixation of the title character. Here they’re building toward the climactic showdown between sniper and police, replete with gas-dropping helicopters and “final fusillade”s. And here they’re crescendoing to a “Day in the Life”-style nihilist’s triumph. A band trained for simplicity, their discipline serves them extraordinarily well, tempering excess and making every musical metaphor convincing.

Chapin’s vocals multitask in a similar fashion. After an introductory chant of the phrase “She said ‘not now'” (words whose significance will be made clear later on), Chapin begins singing as a third-person omniscient narrator, quietly setting the scene while peppering it with ominous foreshadowings: “It is an early Monday morning. The sun is becoming bright on the land,” he sings, firmly in his previously established singer-songwriter sunshine mode, before adding, “No one is watching as he comes a-walking; two bulky suitcases hang from his hand.” Later, the narrator begins taking on some of the sniper’s angry, mocking swagger: “So much to do,” he deadpans, “and so little time.”

When the music takes on its mock-(and mocking-)newscast tone, Chapin switches to a nasal vocal style redolent of bad radio reception or megaphone announcements, posing as several acquaintances interviewed about their now-infamous friend who respond with helpless we-didn’t-know platitudes like, “Always sorta sat there–he never seemed to change.” At other moments he adopts a matter-of-fact, tough guys doin’ a tough job delivery–“They set up an assault team. They asked for volunteers”–before raising his voice to mimick the rising panic of the city and its people–“in appropriately sober tones,” he says in anything but an appropriately sober tone, “they asked, ‘who can it be?‘”

But Chapin’s greatest achievement with “Sniper” is getting inside the labrynthine maze of self-pity, self-hatred, and self-aggrandizement that is its title character’s mind. Chapin frames the entire killing spree as a “conversation” the sniper has decided to have with “the city where no one can know him,” a conversation he initiated the only way he felt he could. “You won’t pay attention,” the sniper says, “but I’ll ask anyhow.” The question? “Am I?” The people of the city answer the sniper by dying at his hands. “The first words he spoke took the town by surprise: One got Mrs. Gibbons above her right eye,” Chapin informs us, stopping to fill in the gruesomely poetic details: “Reality poured from her face, staining the floor.” But even this sudden success in getting a response from the people he felt had ignored him is not enough to assuage the sniper’s misery, the source of which, of course, is rejection by Mother. At this point I feel I’m familiar enough with people in therapy, myself included, to know that this isn’t nearly as reductive a hypothesis for mental illness’s route cause as it’s made out to be. Chapin understood this, and in a lyrical triplet takes the sniper from abject infantile adoration to resentful murderous hatred, a journey one can assume the real-life sniper took himself, seeing as he killed his mother (and his wife) the night before the tower shootings.

It all builds up, needless to say, to the final moments, when police manage to reach the top of the tower and put an end to the sniper’s conversation with the world. But for the sniper himself, the point is moot: In killing him, the world has given him the answer he sought. “I was,” he thinks to himself in triumph as the bullets rip through him, “I am, and now, I will be.” As though just now waking up to this transcendent fact–the fact of his immortalization through the damage he has done, and through the legend he has become–the sniper repeats the last three words once more: “I will be.” The music soars and resounds and, like blood or gunsmoke, slowly flows away.

I thought about this song a lot around this time last year. The circumstances were different, of course: These new murders were mobile hit-and-runs rather than a massive attack. And they ended up being more different than we’d thought: A pair of killers, with Islamic terrorism mixed in as a motivation, rather than (or at least in addition to) the deranged loner with Oedipal rage. But put aside some of the specifics, and the tales told are nearly identical: of men so incapable of communicating their anger that they come to see murder as their only acceptable means of expression, of media that feed parasitically on death and those who produce it.

That listening to a song afforded me insight into and understanding of a human struggle makes it art. That that struggle involved an unblinking, unrepentant killer makes it horror.

Sean T. Collins flies so high when he’s stoned. He blogs at Attentiondeficitdisorderly Too Flat, where this post originally appeared.

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About Sean T. Collins

  • Eric Olsen

    Great job Sean – who would have thought Harry Chapin?? Just shows you you never know and art can instruct and edify when we least expect it.

  • I’ve evolved a grudging respect for Harry (and his backing musicians!) over the years, but I’m more familiar with Kinky Friedman’s “Ballad of Charles Whitman”, which takes a very different approach to the narrative. There’s still a lot of Eagle Scouts around…

  • I always liked “Sniper,” but could never figure out the title of the album “Sniper and other love songs.” Sniper is about love, or lack of it. And Harry did that specifically, just like his album “Verities and Balderdash,” which is basically “truth and fiction.” If you are a dedicated Harry Chapin fan, you will understand how Harry takes a true story and relates it to every day life, and people. One of the best songs Harry ever wrote was “The Mayor of Candor lied!” There are so many twists and turns, at the end of the song, everything comes together, and it all makes sense. Just like in Sniper. At the end, you realize that the shooter only wanted fame, and not “fame and fortune,” because he knew he would die at the end. His mother never loved him, because he says, “Mama, won’t you nurse me?” and them screams, “I hate you!” One can only assume that he only had one parent, which also shows lack of love, as a child, and as a young adult in school, “I didn’t really know him, he was kinda strange. Always sort of sat there, he never seemed to change.” This song can be disected line by line, and that is why Harry Chapin had so much talent, but was never given the appreciation he desearved! He was given the “Congressional Medal Of Honor” for his efforts to stop “World Hunger,” but was not ever recognized as the truly great “singer-songwriter” that he was!

  • Silent Bob

    I’m glad to see that I am not alone in my deep appreciation of Harry’s writing styles and in particular, his ability to communicate the raw emotion of a lonely killer in this great song. I have never been able to listen to it once and move on, programming “repeat” and listening to it over and over is standard procedure for me whenever his CD makes it into my player. Lately I’ve dug it up, quite out of coincidence, and have not been able to stop thinking about it. The more you listen to “Sniper” and the more you pay attention to the words, the more you appreciate the talent this man possessed and the more I wish there were more talented song writers out there with the same distinct sense of what makes “art”-ful music. The song paints a vivid picture of a man who never had an identity (A lover that’s never been kissed, a fighter who’s not made a fist, if I’m alive then there’s so much I’ve missed, how do I know I exist?! Am I?) as well as the path his life had taken to get him on top of that tower. Harry screams in this song, something he never does in any of his other songs, making it really stand out among the rest of his catalog. I love any music that can communicate to me an emotion, whether it be love, hate, sadness, whatever. At the point in the song where the Sniper screams at the city “Are you listening to me?!?!” has got to be the part I can appreciate the most. Harry sings it in just such a way that it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight, sounding exactly as the Sniper probably felt: depraved, resentful, angry, helpless, desperate. Something I’m sure many people could relate to. God Bless you, Harry.

  • Antfreeze

    I saw Harry once and was totally amazed by how freakin LOUD they were. I went in expecting folk songs and love ballads and they actually ended up blowing up the right channel of the PA until it was cutting in and out and pretty much ruined the show.

  • I love Harry’s lyrics to: “Circle” and “W.O.L.D”
    and also “Cat’s In The Cradle”. I miss Harry alot. The people on our “home” planet Earth misses Harry to. Harry is the world’s maginifcent musician who ever lived. Dear god please pray for The Chapin Family as the loss of Harry please help them remember Harry’s songs that he had written.

  • Wrong Harry’s best lyrics are contained in the song “Taxi”

  • Thanks for the great breakdown of the song. I heard it today and it made me think of my mother. She always had Harry and other story telling song writers playing on the record player. I think it is one of the reasons I could never really get into music that didn’t really have something to say.

  • This is a wonderful analysis of Sniper. It is interesting example of how Chapin would read a story (NY Times-Mr.Tanner) or drive through a town (like Candor, NY) and spin a yarn from that brief encounter. In this case, he takes the true story of the clock tower assault of Charles Whitman in Texas and transforms the brutal assault into a conversation in the mind of deranged mind of the killer.

  • Paul K

    Incredible article. The very first time I heard “Sniper”, I had no idea what I was in for– the raw emotion and chilling lyrics combining with the gritty musical shifts left me with a pounding pulse and physical exhaustion. No single song has evoked that kind of reaction before, or since. It truly is a masterpiece.

  • Dave

    Always loved Sniper, Better Place to be & of course the whole album.

    What about Dogtown though???

  • Brian

    First time I heard “The Sniper” was in my 9th grade English class. The teacher wanted us to learn how important words could be in communication, and, she was a Harry Chapin fan. I became a fan myself that day. I heard “Better Place To Be” “Mr. Tanner” “Corey’s Coming” and “Mail Order Annie” that day as well.
    Your article on “The Sniper” was excellent. One of Harry’s best. As an adult with grown children of my own, including one daughter, the one that gets to me the quickest is “Tangled Up Puppet”

  • denverchris

    Indeed one of his best tunes. Like you, my parents, both with wildly differing musical tastes, could always agree on Chapin. Verities and balderdash was on constant rotation. Heard my fair share off Sniper as a young lad and now, 38 or so years later, I still listen intently and still vaguely haunted by it. Thanks for this write up. And thanks for the memories.

  • James Bradley

    What is most sad is that this song, written in the very late 60s and recorded and released in late 1972, was topical then, some 40 years ago…..and is just as topical if not more so today.

    Sometimes its good to look at far we’ve come…..its better to look how far we HAVENT come